


Croix de Lorraine

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crossdressing, Edwardian Period, Nonbinary Character, Other, Stockings, Toxic Relationship, Vampires, kind of, light blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: Mika hunts the streets of New York City by night-- well, the brightly lit dinner parties and smoky parlors, anyway-- and returns to his lavish apartment during the day, a place filled with gifts from wealthy interested men, and very heavy curtains.Then he discovers that he's being trailed by a vampire hunter, a man who wears a symbol of a double-barred cross on his lapel. He could just kill the man, but where would be the fun in that?





	Croix de Lorraine

**Author's Note:**

> This story, along with "Jackalope Hunters," takes place in the same universe as the Asshole Monster Hunter novel but can also be read on its own. 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter: @su1cidesauce

A man's suit, tailored in the right way, can make a very pleasing silhouette. A tuck here, a flare there, perhaps a bit of padding to make his shoulders look wider. The right crease on the collar, the right color of cravat-- an onyx, set in gold, pinned in the center-- helped his neck and jaw ride the line between hard and slender. 

And the cosmetics, of course. Face powdered to porcelain, lips and cheeks kissed pink. One could use a bit of charcoal-- a bit! The tiniest amount, rubbed fine-- to accentuate his cheekbones and darken his eyebrows. The long hair, well, he wasn't about to pin it up in the fashionable style, but he could plait it into an artless braid, draped over his shoulder so that the gold studs in his ears only just peeked through the dark locks. 

Men in this city didn't wear their hair as long as he did, but perhaps he was foreign-- yes, having just come from the Orient. Where, exactly? Oh, tucked away between here and there. A tiny, glittering jewel of a kingdom that he had so loved, but was stifled in. He had seen many places on his journey through Europe, but he had never seen a city as busy nor as wonderful as New York. So many things to see, so many people to meet! He'd need an experienced guide to keep him from getting hopelessly lost. Perhaps you would...?

He wore the white fur stole to confuse people. And because it was chilly.

It was easy to deflect the comments from the more uncivilized partygoers. "Darling, it's a new world, a new century! Look at the future, blossoming all around us, with aeroplanes and electric lights and-- and tea that comes in lovely little silk bags instead of a tin. How on earth did no one ever think of that before?" Mika laughed, basking in the attention of the people clustered around him. "It's because people are mired in the past, caught up in what they're allowed to look like, who should wear what, and when. If you find a rose growing in the dead of winter, do you question its beauty? No," he answered before some other smart alec could butt in. "You embrace it. Embrace its bravery, its rarity." 

"Here, here," a man said, lifting his glass in a toast. He'd been eyeing Mika all night, his gaze raking down the smartly tailored suit, the splashes of gold jewelry, the rouge-tinted lips. However he interpreted the puzzle set before him, he seemed to like it quite a bit.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Mika purred, "it isn't terribly fair to let you keep me to yourselves." He put a hand to ward off the chorus of protests. "Where I come from, we believe in sharing," he said, smiling. "And so I must see that everyone gets their share of me."

Over the years-- and there had been rather a lot of them-- Mika had learned how to read a room: find the bachelors looking for somewhere to prove themselves, the young ladies daring to stray from their chaperones for a few precious moments, the unhappily married men, their wives gossiping behind delicate folding fans. He was used to being watched as he crossed a room; there was no point in coming to a party where he didn't have the attention of at least half the guests at any moment, after all. But he could also tell which guests were being a little too quiet, staring a little too hard. 

A man, nursing a glass of wine. He'd been about as friendly and social as a stump to his fellow partygoers, choosing instead to occupy a space beside one of the chaise lounges, so far back that he was nearly behind the curtains. His clothes were very well cut, and had probably been expensive, ten years ago. 

Perhaps a tipsy architect's daughter wouldn't have noticed, but Mika certainly did. He moved from one end of the party to the other, smiling, teasing, letting very rich men bring him drinks, and watched the man in the corner watch him. It was toward the end of the night, when Mika was narrowing down the candidates for who would be enjoying the pleasure of his company, when the man turned slightly and Mika caught the red-gold flash of the pin on the man's lapel. Croix de Lorraine, a double-barred cross.

Ah. 

Well, there went his plans.

Mika found the host-- as well as the man who'd been eating him up with his eyes-- and made his excuses and goodbyes to both. So, so sorry, he wanted to stay longer, have a few more drinks and perhaps some conversation in a more intimate setting, but he'd completely forgotten that he was due at the tailor's in the morning. Terrible, wasn't it? But it was a necessary evil, for the wretched man wouldn't make the right alterations unless Mika was standing there beside him, holding the shears.

And then he was stepping out of the warm foyer, down three steps just beginning to grow slick with ice, and out into the street.

He'd come here alone, expecting to share a coach back to wherever his mark wished to enjoy him, or perhaps take a ride in the host's new automobile (a Stafford Racer, not one of those dreadful T's that Ford kept churning out and hawking to the unwashed masses like peanuts). But here he was, walking alone through the cold in the dead of night because of that--

Ah, yes. He could hear, faintly, the echo of footsteps behind him. Probably waiting for him to turn into a bat and fly away to his castle in the hills. Or a wolf, or mist, those were the rumors going around now. Ugh. The way he looked now was just fine, thank you, barring a few easily remedied blemishes, and there was a much better place to deal with this problem than on the street.

His apartment was on a high enough floor to offer a good view of the street below, though not so high that he would wear out the soles of his shoes climbing flight after flight of stairs. He learned all he needed to know about his double-barred tail on the way up to his door: someone young, strong enough to climb up after him without panting but inexperienced enough to follow a vampire into an enclosed space with only one exit.

Mika entered his apartment-- the windows hung with thick brocade curtains, the jewelry box on an end table spilling over with pearls and rubies and a king's ransom in delicate gold chains-- and sat down at his vanity, reaching up to unclasp his earrings and pretending as if he hadn't noticed that he'd left the door wide open.

"Turn and face me, you unholy beast."

Mika jerked in surprise, whirling around, his braid whipping behind him, eyes huge and frightened. "What-- who-- who are--? How did you get--?"

There he stood, outdated clothing and all, the pin on his breast shining in the light like a beacon of righteousness. He was holding a crucifix in one hand, a stake in the other, and oh, wasn't he proud of himself. 

Handsome, though, in a pure and virtuous sort of way. Mika preferred them with a few more handfuls of years on them, but he could certainly make this work. He kept his face fixed in that expression of terror and despair and got to his feet, hands clasped to his chest. "How did you find me here?"

"I've been tracking you for days, _vampire._ Your kind are easier to spot than you think. And I know you've been hunting in this part of the city for some time, preying on the innocent." He lifted his weapon. "The fires of Hell are ready to receive you!"

“Sweet mother Mary," Mika whimpered, sinking back into his chair and putting his face into his hands. "I knew. I knew it would only be a matter of time. I knew I could not hide forever."

"Quite right." He'd come quite close, by now. "I've come to rid the world of the stain of you and your undead brethren."

"Yes." Mika lifted his head, tears in his eyes. "Yes. Please, sir, give me peace. This wretched, hollow life that I lead-- I can stand it no longer. I cannot bear to go on as this monster that I was made into!"

"You--" his grip on the stake slackened a little. "...What? Oh, hey, don't-- don't cry, please--" 

Mika spent a good few moments sobbing helplessly, first into his hands and then into the handkerchief that was offered. He could do little about leaving white powder behind on it, but he reminded himself to pat, not wipe. Crying attractively, yet convincingly, was a skill that took practice, but was more valuable than a loaded pistol in times like these. 

"All these years," he quavered. "All these lonely years, stretching on into eternity! Each night searching for something to ease my suffering, each morning returning here alone, _alone,_ for who could ever love a creature like me?"

"Oh. It isn't-- it isn't so bad, I'm sure that--" he looked around for somewhere to put his stake and the heavy silver crucifix, and set both on the end table beside the jewelry box. "I've been, uh, told that I'm a good listener. Perhaps if you'd like to-- talk to me--" he stopped as Mika raised his gaze hopefully. "What-- what is your name?"

"Mika." Full of light, full of beauty, face tilted at just the right angle for the light to shine in his eyes. "My name is Mika."

"Daniel. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He dearly wished he had more fingers at the moment, for he was running out of places to wrap these men.

"Oh, Daniel, I know that I have sinned." Mika pulled his braid over his shoulder again so that loose strands of hair fell to frame his face. "I know my very existence as this-- this _thing_ is a mockery of God's creation. Father forgive me, I-- I had thought of doing it myself. Ending it." He crossed himself, for the look of it. "Simply striding out into the sunlight, feeling the gentle kiss of the golden dawn on my face one last time... but I could not. I'm a coward!" 

He hid his face in the handkerchief again, shoulders shaking, and waited. And there, Daniel's hesitant touch on his arm. "Mika, it's alright. It's going to be alright. Stand up, now. Dry your tears."

Mika got to his feet, hugging himself as if he would fly apart as soon as he let go. He stood before Daniel, gaze down, letting him look at dark eyelashes and pink lips and very good cheekbones, then sealed it by looking up at him. Look how much taller you are. See how small I am, how desperately I need you, your understanding, your protection.

"Please," Mika said. "Can you help me?"

Daniel stepped forward to offer his embrace and Mika took it, laying his cheek against the man's chest. 

Daniel stayed there in the apartment for the rest of the night-- what there was left of it-- and even into the morning, when the first shy pink rays of the sun began to peek around the edges of the heavy curtains.

They had talked. Pouring a lot of words into the empty space around himself without actually saying anything was one of Mika's specialties. Another was listening intently to whatever anyone else was saying, and once seated on Mika's couch with a cup of tea in his hand, Daniel was more than happy to indulge Mika's earnest curiosity about his life, his upbringing, his work. 

Frankly, it was dull: born in Maryland on a farm on the border of Pennsylvania, raised by his hardworking mother, her gentle hands rough from her work as something dirty and boring, his father the parish priest who had taught little Daniel to love and fear the Lord. As a young man he attended seminary school in... oh, somewhere, and it was there that he was contacted by the Templarate and asked if he would devote his life to the eradication of the undead menace that was bleeding out of Europe and into the Americas. 

This scintillating tale took three cups of tea, served from a hand-painted antique tea service that was probably worth more money than Daniel had ever seen in his life. But at least he had manners, and those were priceless in Mika's opinion. He preferred a toothless peasant who knew how to stir in sugar without making an ungodly racket to the richest of robber barons who tucked their napkins into their collars and brayed over lewd stories at the table.

Mika eyed the growing daylight, then made a show of yawning, his back arching, eyelashes fluttering. He leaned his head against Daniel's shoulder with a great sigh, relishing the way the man stiffened.

"It's gotten so late." Daniel set his cup back in its saucer. "I should..."

A pale, lovely hand on his arm. Near the bend of his elbow, where even through a coat sleeve the skin was sensitive. "Please," Mika said softly. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone." 

Much of his hair had come loose from its braid, leaving it to twist down his back. His cravat and three shirt buttons undone, collar hanging open, loose around his neck. His eyes would be sleepy, dewey; his pink lips an invitation. 

A bit early for that, but he'd let the man think about what might be waiting for him. 

"I... don't know," Daniel said. "I suppose I could sleep here, on the couch, while you go to your, er..."

"I have a bed." The shapes that Mika's mouth made saying those words would be something to keep him awake at night for some time. 

"While you retire to your bedroom, then."

"You'll stay here?" A tiny squeeze of his fingers, still perched on Daniel's arm. "Until the evening?"

Daniel's smile was gentle, reassuring. "I'll stay here," he promised. "I won't leave you."

Mika stood, crossing to his bedroom door. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, offering Daniel a shy smile over his shoulder, and then stepped into the dark so he could brush out his hair and properly wash and moisturize his face.

It took a lot of work to emerge from his bedroom the next morning looking as artlessly beautiful as he did. He'd risen early, when the sun had only just kissed the horizon, and was sure to move very quietly, putting on underclothes and then wrapping himself in a silk shirt he'd bought in Beijing-- far before that nastiness that had been going on there the last few years-- that had been made for someone much taller and broader than he was. The result was the open collar slipping sideways, exposing one delicate white shoulder without drooping down far enough to show any of the layers he was wearing underneath. 

Legs bare to the thigh, a bit of rouge on his lips and knees, lampblack for his eyelashes. He'd used his fingers to comb the tangles out of hair and reawaken the curls that lingered there from the previous night. His bare feet, dainty and alabaster pale, swung his look from seductive to innocent, almost virginal. Young and lost, freshly tumbled out of bed and searching anxiously for his protector.

Daniel was sitting on the couch in his shirtsleeves, suspenders looped around his waist. His coat was draped neatly over a chair, boots waiting below. It didn't matter what he'd been doing before Mika stepped out; he looked up, and the rest of the world slammed to a stop around those eyes, the long dark hair, the scandalously bare shoulder, the sinfully exposed legs. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Daniel," Mika breathed. "You stayed."

"Yes, I--" Daniel couldn't seem to decide where he ought to look, where he wanted to look. "Did you-- did you sleep well?"

"Sweetly, knowing you were here." He sat down on the couch, not near enough to touch, but close enough to turn one's thoughts to touching. "Oh, your-- you've--"

"Sorry?" Daniel had been rubbing the stubble that had appeared on his cheeks and jaw overnight. “Ah. This. Nothing a good shave won't fix."

Mika lifted a hand, trailed his fingertips over Daniel's skin, entranced. Watching goosebumps raise on the back of the man's neck. Mika leaned closer, inhaling deeply, letting it out through his mouth, a warm, tickling breath past lips that now grazed the cheek of a man who hadn't dared to breathe or blink in several seconds. "I haven't..." Mika murmured, eyes nearly closed, "I haven't been this close to a man in a very long time." Not since Tuesday. "You're so warm. I feel that if I stayed near you, I could finally chase away this chill..."

His fingers traced the lines of Daniel's mouth, and if the man didn't know what he was being asked to do, he found out as soon as Mika's lips touched his. 

One kiss turned into two, the third unchaste as a pregnant nun. Daniel hardly knew what he was doing, the poor dear, but he was content to follow where he was led. Mika let him have more than a little taste, enough to make him begin to think about what other delights this evening might hold, and then he let his wandering fingers unbutton Daniel's shirt, where they brushed against the silver chain of a necklace with a crucifix dangling at the end of it. He jerked away with a ragged little gasp, clutching his fingers.

"Oh-- that. It won't hurt you, I won't let it hurt you." Daniel struggled to pull the chain from around his neck. "I'll take it off, Mika, here. It's gone. Mika, come back."

Mika stood up, turning away. With his hair bundled over his shoulder, the dip of his collar exposed the creamy skin at the back of his neck: he helped it along by tucking his chin and clasping his hands to his chest. "We can't do this. Daniel, we can't do this, I'm so sorry, I oughtn't to have-- I'm sorry!"

He waited one breath, two, and then Daniel came to put his hands on Mika's shoulders from behind and Mika leaned back against him, curled into himself, head down. "You don't have to be afraid of me," Daniel said. Mika felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in sardonic smile and he quickly smoothed it away. "Please. Don't be afraid of me."

"I'm afraid of what would happen," Mika breathed. "To us. To you. If anyone were to find out--!"

"Mika. Look at me." Growing a little bolder, his stutter giving way to a sort of white-night surety that was difficult not to laugh at. "Turn around. Let me see you."

Again, those eyes framed by dark lashes, his pouty lips parted, blessed with a kiss and begging for another. "They would kill you." Hardly a breath, as if speaking it would make it spring to life, to truth. "They would kill us both."

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever known." Rough with passion. "The most pure, with the light of God still burning in your heart. I know you aren't like the rest of them. I can make them understand."

"And if you can't?"

"Trust in me." Oh, that expression, the one that said 'You just let the man handle this.' "I'll protect you."

 

The next few nights were a pleasant distraction, if only because Mika was showered with all the gifts a young man on a vampire hunter's salary could afford. Gaudy gold necklaces, earrings set with glass gems, bought at a discount from a smiling vendor that Mika knew personally-- he stood outside the train station, hawking his counterfeit wares to men finally coming home to their mistresses from trips in the country to see their wives. Mika could smell the cheap jewelry, made with lead and painted with gold, from across the room, but it was so sweet of Daniel to think of him. 

Shoes, as well, velvet with a buckle and a low heel that weren't too badly made, and stockings of real silk. That little bit of spending was rewarded with a sweet sigh, eyelashes lowered, lips curled up in a smile as he drew the silk between his fingers. Then he leaned forward to tug his current stockings off (much better quality, ribboned at the top) while Daniel's gaze pressed down so hard upon him that it nearly bruised.

Other than the occasional flash of ankle or delicately sinful knee, though, Mika was so shy, so charmingly demure. He had led that first night, but now that Daniel had had that kiss, that hot touch of the tongue, those narrow shoulders under his hands, slim body pressed against his, he needed no further invitation. They often spent most of the night curled together on the couch, Mika's head resting on Daniel's chest while Daniel spoke of how much better things would be for them and Mika wondered if the perfume he'd ordered from Paris had come in yet. 

And then Daniel's hand slipped down to Mika's hip, and Mika pulled in a startled little gasp. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," Daniel promised. He said that often, as if Mika were made of glass, of spun sugar, so fragile that a raindrop falling onto his fair skin might send him flying into a thousand pieces. 

"I know." A titillated whisper, wanting, but waiting. "I-- I want to be married."

It took a few moments for Daniel's brain to process this, and came back with a result of, "I-- but-- but we--"

Mika bit down very hard on his bottom lip and tried to look conflicted and virginal instead of laughing so hard that he cried and ruined his makeup again. "I want to be married," he said when he was sure he had himself under control, "so that I can give all of myself to you."

The cogs turning in Daniel's head made a nearly audible grinding sound as they shuddered to a halt. Daniel had seen Mika in blouses and makeup and fine jewelry and silk stockings and trousers and top hats and cravats with his cheeks shadowed to give his face a bit more definition and he had just assumed that--

\-- He had assumed that--

...He wasn't sure what he'd assumed. 

Watching these thoughts flit across Daniel's face was the most entertainment Mika had had in ten years, perhaps fifteen. He wasn't sure how it compared to that week spent with Lord Byron (oh dear, that was a bit more than fifteen years ago, wasn't it? Had his life really gotten so boring?), but he was certainly going to cherish the experience for quite some time. 

But the man was slipping out of his grasp, so Mika said, "Please, Daniel. I love you."

And just like that, the trap sprang closed.

"Mika." His name rode on a trembling breath. "Oh, Mika. Of course we'll be married. We can go to the magistrate in the morning-- oh, you can't-- tomorrow evening, then. Just after sunset, we can catch him before he leaves his office."

"And you'll speak to the Church?" Mika asked, looking up at him with something probably like adoration. "About me?"

"Who cares what they say," Daniel declared, pulling Mika against him. "Who cares what they think! I know you, Mika, I know who you are and I love you and I am going to be your husband and you are going to be my-- you are going to be married to me!"

"Yes," Mika said, smile growing. "I am."

Mika wasn't certain if Daniel was the kind of man who might run about town telling everyone he was going to be married. Being marked as lawfully wed could cause problems, but Mika just couldn't resist wringing one more day out of poor besotted Daniel. Anyway, he had a lovely lace veil put away that he hadn't had occasion to wear yet, and he wanted to pair it with a gown he'd picked up recently that only needed a few quick alterations to be really stunning. 

And white ribbon garters. Oh, yes. Even if no one but him ever saw them, he'd know they were there. 

Of course he had no intention of actually leaving the house wearing this much white, let alone all the way down the street to the magistrate's office. He'd be mistaken for some kind of wandering bridal spirit, or worse, recognized. As it was he had to rouge his cheeks and lips much more heavily than usual just to bring his face from "corpse" to "pale," and putting enough pomade and pins in his hair to make it stay up in the simple style he'd chosen took over an hour of cursing and brushing and smoothing and more cursing. 

But the result, oh, the result was breathtaking. He rather wished they'd go back to coating mirrors in gold, because his reflection wouldn't show in the silver-backed kind, but he had long since learned how to buff a pewter plate to a high enough polish to see himself in it. He had just put his makeshift mirror down for the seventh or eighth time-- he was so often the most beautiful thing in the room, it was difficult not to sneak a look-- when he heard the doorknob turn, and turned to face Daniel as he stepped into the apartment.

"Oh, _Mika."_

Daniel couldn't manage much else at first, standing there in his brand-new suit with his hair freshly oiled down, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, but he wept. Mika, always pleased when he could move someone to tears, stepped forward into his arms and turned his face up for a kiss.

There's a peculiar sort of trance that comes over people who are bitten by a vampire: their limbs first stiffen, tremble, then relax, head lolling back or tipping to one side. The world begins to gray, sound softens into nothing, and one isn't aware of anything, even if, say, someone was reaching over their shoulder and flailing an arm to get their apartment door closed.

But as soon as they're released, it all starts to come back. Slowly at first, and then faster, until a beveiled vampire is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and his victim is awash in dawning slightly anemic outrage.

"I haven't eaten," Mika huffed, licking a droplet off of his thumb, "in days."

"Mika--" Daniel goggled, caught between _my bride_ and _I've been bitten_ and _that is a dress, that's definitely a dress, does that mean--?_ "Mika, what have you done? I--"

"You," Mika drawled, "are a sad, lonely little marionette, ready to dance for anyone who'll pull on your strings. Just a bat of the eyelashes and even your pious little heart skips a beat, doesn't it?" This smile was quite a bit toothier than before, bottom lip still dark with blood. "I can't say that'll take you into old age."

Daniel was fumbling in his jacket-- he still had that double-barred cross pinned to his lapel, what dedication-- and he dragged a silver crucifix out of his pocket, holding it before him with a shaking hand. "Don't--" he swallowed. "Stay back. Get back. Get _back,_ you vile-- you vile---"

"Villanous," Mika suggested.

 _"Monster,"_ Daniel sobbed. "I thought you-- I thought we-- you said you you wanted to be married!"

Mika shrugged. "I didn't say I wanted to be married to you. Though you'll make some very boring, ugly woman a happy wife to your fumbling husbanding, I'm sure. That's if you ever learn not to leap into things heart-first and trousers down." He turned to go. "I feel I've done you a favor. And you returned it by keeping me in stitches for nearly five entire nights which is a bit long even for me, but," he smiled over his shoulder. "I didn't want to be too forward."

"I know where you lair," Daniel panted. "I know where you hunt. I only need to bring it to the Church and you'll have a dozen, a score of hunters falling down upon you, to stab you in your vile breast--"

"Excuse you. And you've used 'vile' already, try 'rotten.'"

"--And burn you down into nothing!"

Mika turned. "Really?" he asked softly. "Is that truly what you'll do, return to your elders and stand before them and tell them that you let a vampire crawl upon you and whisper sweetly into your ear and kiss you, mouth to bloody mouth, and you liked it? Will you tell them of your plans to take me to some neat little cottage in the country with the draperies always drawn so we could keep chickens and raise batlings and cuddle in front of the fire?" He dropped his voice still lower. "Will you tell them that when I invited you into my den, I was wearing trousers and a waistcoat and you felt that awful, sinful stirring? Or will you wait until they've grown suspicious enough to wring it out of you with hot coals and pulled fingernails?"

Silence slammed down. Daniel stared at him, chest heaving, anger slowly bleeding into despair. "Why?" he asked finally. "I loved you. I truly did. I saw myself spending a life with you."

"Growing old and dying in an instant and leaving me behind? Sweet of you," Mika sneered. "You loved who you thought I was. Who you wanted me to be. I wanted you off my trail for good and you needed to be taught a lesson. You're lucky I can't be bothered to hide a body this time of year."

Daniel's shoulders slumped and he sagged suddenly, head hanging as if he were a wilting flower. "Mika," was all he could say.

"Don't 'Mika' me," Mika snapped. "Marry you! Look at you, you can hardly pick yourself up. If you lay down on my carpet like a dog I'm going to kick you." He pulled off his veil, tossing it to one side. "Now get out of my apartment."

**Author's Note:**

> "Asshole Monster Hunter" (real title: Order of the Wolfshead) is a project that I'm slowly chipping away at about a perpetually exhausted and broke girl in Ohio who has pink hair and a job making sure the less than human inhabitants of her midsize city behave themselves.
> 
> All characters and the state of Ohio are (c) me.


End file.
